the multiverse hidden in your mind
by sanskrits
Summary: — or, the different worlds we could have lived in. bellatrix lestrange, through a variety of AUs. / drabble collection / for shay
1. i: how this story goes

**for the golden snitch "through the universe" and hogwarts's creative collection challenge**

 **creative collection: Voldemort Wins!AU (character) Bellatrix Lestrange**

 **Through the Universe: Magnetic Pole — (ship) VoldemortBellatrix**

 **school, house: hogwarts, slytherin**

 **points: 5**

 **dee-imposed restriction: no using the words they're/their/there, hear/here, your/you're, then/than, two/to/too**

 **wc: 1256**

 **a/n: i didn't actually have that much trouble with this, dee :D and i didn't complain at all, not at you and not at anyone. so take that**

 **for shay, who won february's point project.**

. . .

i. _how this story goes_

. . .

So this is how the story goes:

We find a hero. The hero has a hard life, but this hero is a good person and never wavers in good faith.

We find a villain. The villain has a hard life, and has a life that is almost exactly just like that of the hero's — the similarities are strikingly parallel — but instead this villain has no good faith.

The hero and the villain clash. But the hero is good and as such the hero wins, inevitably. No matter how unrealistic the victory, no matter how cunning the villain — the hero always wins.

That is not how this story goes. The template is an archetype, and this story flips the archetype on its ends.

. . .

The manor is quiet. The silence is not one of self-preservation but rather one of awe — as if everyone in the room is holding breath, saving it.

Bellatrix leans forward in glee, looking at the black-haired boy and the companions at his side. She is quite sure that it is Potter, indeed.

But only Draco can confirm the fact. His face is pale, unreadable, mind shielded with Occlumency — guard up. It is a wise course, she will admit, but it makes him all the more untrustworthy.

Bellatrix watches him train his cold gray eyes on Potter — or at least, the man suspected as Potter.

 _Well, what does he mean anyway?_ she thinks amusedly. _He can't do a proper Unforgivable. An easy kill._

Draco's eyes are alight with recognition and fear. It is him, now she knows — Potter.

"Draco?" prompts Narcissa — sweet, feeble, meek Narcissa, Narcissa who is nothing because she is no true servant. "Is it him?"

Draco turns his head back, looking at his mother — he turns back toward Potter and his companions. Bellatrix watches him deliberate — watch his classmates die, or betray his Lord?

Bellatrix probes at his mind's barriers, prodding until she finds a crack, and whispers into Draco's mind, _It is Potter, is it not? Submit him._

Draco stiffens, straightening. But he gives up. He knows he cannot tell Bellatrix that the man before him is not Potter. It would be a lie. And he cannot lie, not when she can tell.

 _It is Potter,_ comes the reply.

"Yes," Draco says, and holds his head up high. Bellatrix sees him stare at Potter with hard eyes. He has reached a decision. "I recognize him. He is Potter."

Bellatrix smiles widely, madly. "Wonderful job, Draco." She flashes her teeth at him, slightly menacing. "Now we kill him."

"Bellatrix," Narcissa says placatingly in ways of calming her. "Don't you feel that we should wait for the Lord? Or at least summon him?"

"What point in _waiting?_ " sneers Bellatrix. "But if that is what you wish, so be it." She presses her finger upon the Dark Mark, feeling the familiar burning sensation throughout her body as she summons the Dark Lord. He will not be at the manor immediately, but he will be eventually.

She smirks, withdrawing her wand. Bellatrix raises an elegant hand, raising the piece of wood which is _so much more,_ and she savors the words falling from her lips.

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

Potter falls with an unrecognizable face. The shock can't even be _seen,_ and the death was so instantaneous that Potter looks almost at peace.

The girl lets out a little shriek, screeching, " _Harry!_ No, no, no, Harry. He's alive, he must be, Harry, Harry —" Her babbling and hysterics sound like nails scratching a board in Bellatrix's ears, relentless and pointless. She must be the Mudblood girl, Potter's friend. Hermione Granger, her name is?

It does not matter, really. She is a Mudblood and that is why she will be next.

"You are the Mudblood, no?" she asks sweetly. "The darling little bookworm Mudblood," Bellatrix croons, walking closer, approaching the fearful girl, who now cowers away from her with a fierce glare in her eyes. She does not scare Bellatrix. She is meager in the grand scheme of things, of power. "They say you get all the answers, yes? So riddle me this, Mudblood: who — is — next?" She is so close now, practically breathing on the bushy hair falling down the girl's neck. Bellatrix whispers dangerously in her ear, low tones with a hint of murder in them.

The Mudblood is a smart one, though — they don't call her the brightest witch of her age for nothing, and she answers, "I am." She does not sound scared. That is all Bellatrix will hand her.

"Ten points for Gryffindor," praises Bellatrix.

The male companion of Potter sits on the white, tiled floor, motionless and fearful, watching the scene unfold before him. It is only a matter of time before Bellatrix takes him as well, and the blood-traitor is aware of the fact.

"And I shall save you, little blood-traitor, for last, so you will know that the pure blood running through you _does_ mean something, after all, and you will know that you have been a foolish idiot all this time. How does that sound?" she asks amicably. She coils her wand around her fingers, twisting it around her hands like magic. "It is wonderful," she answers for him.

"Go ahead, do it," he says with a fiery voice. "It won't erase Dumbledore's Army —"

"Dumbledore's Army!" Bellatrix laughs. "Dumbledore is _dead,_ blood-traitor. You _are_ a fool, indeed...but _as you wish…_ "

"No, not Hermione —" He backtracks, but he has spoken already and Bellatrix will deliver.

She points the wand she has been twirling between her fingers at the Mudblood girl. She looks back at Bellatrix fearlessly.

"Say it."

Bellatrix does not hesitate. " _Avada Kedavra._ "

She turns toward the ginger male, the last soul. "Goodbye," she says scathingly. " _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Draco, Narcissa, and Lucius watch with stony eyes as the children are murdered. They may perhaps have objections, but they are not voiced and they stay silenced.

The manor is quiet once more. It is not the silence of awe, but the silence of death.

. . .

He wants her in his office. Bellatrix obliges.

"I heard that you killed Potter and his companions," he says without preamble.

Bellatrix bows at the feet of her Lord. "I did, my Lord."

"And did anyone oppose this decision?"

Bellatrix thinks of Draco and of Narcissa. The hesitancy in Draco's eyes and the way Narcissa had almost pleaded with her for time.

"No."

He does not think she is lying. Perhaps she does not, either. It is of no consequence.

The Dark Lord gives her an appraising look, eyes roving over her body, and for a moment Bellatrix thinks she might see hunger, a primitive want, deep in his beady eyes. He is satisfied with what he sees, apparently, because he turns his eyes on her face and offers, "I think, for that, you deserve...payment. A reward, if you will take it."

Bellatrix gives him an analytical look. She knows what he wants.

She knows that she wants it as well.

"I believe I will," she agrees.

The beginnings of a smile spread onto his face, and Bellatrix walks forward purposefully, maintaining eye contact with him. The hunger illuminates his red eyes, and suddenly he is upon her, mouth colliding with hers. A jolt of pleasure courses through her, and Bellatrix realizes that she has won.

The villain has won. She has everything.

Bellatrix is everything, and everything is where it should be — with her. She embraces it.


	2. ii: her heart brushed with black

**written for the hogwarts assignment five, the creative collection, and the "through the universe" challenge on the golden snitch**

 **hogwarts a5: Task #7: Write about a mother teaching/encouraging her child to be cruel.**

 **creative collection: Different School!AU (in which a character is taught in a school other than which they are canonically taught); (character) Bellatrix Lestrange**

 **through the universe: Constellation — (characters) the Black family**

 **points: 5**

 **hogwarts, slytherin**

 **wc: 1312**

. . .

ii. _her heart brushed with black_

. . .

Druella Black is the kind of woman who believes that she is always right and that her children must follow in her footsteps. Bellatrix Black is her least rebellious child as well as the oldest — Andromeda is useless and Narcissa is weak — and as such she is the pride of the Black family.

Well — Cygnus Black's family, anyway. They do not have much of a care for Walburga, Orion, or any of their "blasted rat-looking children with their ugly noses."

No, Druella doesn't like the other side of the Black family, but Bellatrix knows she believes her side of the family is perfectly wonderful and respectful. Of course, Bellatrix harbors the same belief. Uncle Orion's child Sirius is just too Mudblood-sympathizing for her — she can see it in his eyes every time someone tells him of his inherent superiority — and Aunt Walburga is entirely too psychotic, even for her tastes. The boy Regulus is one to follow in with the crowd — there is rebellion in his eyes, but it is understated. He will believe in something but he will not act on it. Orion himself is incompetent for producing such an utterly incompetent family.

The opposite branch of the Black family, on the other hand, is much more respectable and has much more control. It is less wild and it is perfectly pureblood.

"Now, now, Bellatrix," her mother always warns her after one of these sessions where Bellatrix is warned about the right kind of company, with tea in hand and a cruel smile on her face. "These are the things we think but do not say."

"Then what's the point of that?" whines Bellatrix one day. "Can't you tell them they're worthless?"

Her mother smiles more widely, a plastic and false one. "It is through subtlety that you do this. A comment here, a smirk there. You do — not — say — it — aloud," she punctuates.

"Okay," says Bellatrix, slightly unsatisfied by the answer, but already learning. There are some things one does not say aloud.

Druella looks at her appraisingly. "You are learning, I see."

Bellatrix does not reply but for a small smile. It is answer enough for her mother, she knows.

Druella barks out a laugh, short and humorless. "My darling Bellatrix," she croons, "someday you will grow up to be so great. Mark my words."

. . .

Bellatrix never sees very much of her father, but her mother is an ever-present effigy in her life, her shadow looming over Bellatrix as if reminding her, " _Do — not — say — this — aloud._ " Perhaps it is a reminder, perhaps it is a comfort, perhaps it doesn't matter.

Druella Black does not like Hogwarts and she makes it known to Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa.

"We are debating Durmstrang for you," she says. "I do not like Hogwarts."

"Too many Mudbloods, not enough curses," Bellatrix recites.

"Indeed," says her mother, lost in thought.

Abruptly she stands, blond hair long and flowing down her back, normally alert gray eyes lost in thought. Druella leaves the room without a word, presumably to talk to Bellatrix's father.

Bellatrix trains her own gray eyes on the retreating form of her mother. She does not know what her fate will be.

. . .

When the owl arrives, Bellatrix's mother takes it first.

" _Hogwarts!_ " she proclaims with a sneer, and proceeds to _Incendio_ the letter, throwing it in the fireplace. The cold grayness of the house is lit up by a warm, orange fire.

"That is all Hogwarts will be useful for," scowls her mother. "Tell that to the Mudbloods…"

. . .

Two days later, another owl arrives. This time it is from Durmstrang, as her mother's stressed face lights up with a bright smile.

"Oh, Bellatrix, you're going to Durmstrang!" she exclaims with a bright grin — or as close to a grin as Druella Black can get.

. . .

Durmstrang is different from how Bellatrix has been taught to view a school. There are no Houses like at Hogwarts — rather, blood status determines hierarchy — and the classes, Bellatrix is told, are far more rigorous than they would've been at Hogwarts.

A man — Rosier, he is, apparently, related to her mother. Evan, she thinks his name must be — tells her that this is where it should be. She is at the top, where she should be.

"Those dratted idiots at Hogwarts — Mudbloods, all of them must be — let them bottom-feed. Here at Durmstrang is where we thrive. They're all Mudblood-lovers and blood-traitors and entirely the wrong lot, I tell you," he blabbers. Bellatrix _knows_ all of this already, it is her birthright to know it, and he just keeps _jabbering,_ on and on. She finds him annoying. He is inferior because who is he? Just another Rosier. Bellatrix may be a Rosier, as well, but she is also a Black, _she is both,_ and she bears the higher name.

Evan is a fool for thinking he is at the top. Someday, Bellatrix will make sure he knows.

But there are some things, after all, that one does not say aloud.

. . .

Andromeda and Narcissa join her in the succeeding years, when Bellatrix has made herself a reputation as Durmstrang's queen, the third year with the black heart and the dark soul.

She will do anything for power, even though she doesn't need to. Her name is practically synonymous to power.

Her sisters join her at the throne, princesses — they have chances but they will never get them. Andromeda looks disdainfully at Bellatrix's vantage point, and Bellatrix knows she is wishing that it would go away entirely. Narcissa remains where she is, staring impassively at the masses, knowing her destiny is to be nothing.

Druella hears whispers of a Dark Lord emerging to rid the wizarding world of the filth that plagues it — the Mudbloods. She passes them on to Bellatrix, letters saying, _I want you to join him._

 _It would be good if you joined him._

 _As soon as you are of age, I wish for you to become one of his followers._

 _They are called Death Eaters. You are to be one._

Bellatrix learns spells: curses and countercurses and Dark magic and she thinks that she could kill if she got the chance.

 _Become a Death Eater. Inflict pain upon the Mudbloods._

The shadow speaks to her, writing relentlessly, planting ideas in Bellatrix's mind.

 _The Death Eaters are what this world needs. They will be the winners and you will join them when they do._

. . .

Bellatrix stands before him, bowing toward her master. She is the queen of Durmstrang but she is his servant.

She can play second fiddle. But she will be a winner. She will remain faithful to her new Lord.

"Bellatrix," he beckons, pointing at her with an unnaturally long, pale finger. Her master is strange in looks, but she does not discriminate. He is hairless, much too pale, with red eyes like snakes and a mouth that is almost _not one._

Bellatrix stands, and walks the dark corridor to him.

"You have been most faithful to me in tonight's mission," continues Lord Voldemort. "For that, I believe it is time…" He withdraws his wand from his cloak, and uses his other hand to take Bellatrix's forearm. His skin is cold to the touch.

He draws back the sleeves of her robes, and presses the wand to her skin. A burning sensation spreads out from it across her arm, and Bellatrix sucks in a sharp intake of air, but she does not say a word. She is mesmerized by the pattern weaving itself across her skin: an elegant serpent with detailed scales, protruding from the beginnings of — no, now it _is_ a skull — with teeth and sockets in its face set menacingly.

It is the Dark Mark. It is her destiny.


	3. iii: and if you have no honor

**written for the hogwarts creative collection and "through the universe" + "ancient romans" on the golden snitch**

 **creative collection: Different House!AU, (character) Bellatrix Lestrange**

 **through the universe: Supernova — (words) toujours pur**

 **ancient romans: Plutarch — (word) philosophy**

 **school, house: hogwarts, slytherin**

 **points: 5**

 **wc: 1852**

. . .

iii. _and if you have no honor_

. . .

"Black, Bellatrix!" calls Professor McGonagall from the Great Hall. Bellatrix holds her head up high like a Black and walks pridefully to the Sorting ceremony — which, for her, is pointless. She is a Black and she will end up in Slytherin — wherein she will sit on a stool and a dingy old hat will be placed upon her head and shout out "SLYTHERIN!" This process is what has happened for the two people in her year ahead of her alphabetically.

Bellatrix perches onto the stool, and then her eyes are covered by the fabric of the Sorting Hat — darkness is the only thing she can see.

 _Well, what have we here?_ asks the voice of the Hat in her head. _A Black? Well...I certainly see the potential for Slytherin…_

 _Then what are you waiting for?_ thinks Bellatrix impatiently. _I'm Slytherin, so you can say that, yes?_

 _Not so fast...patience, Miss Black,_ the Hat chides. _There is much potential in you…_

 _What for?_ snaps Bellatrix mentally. _It's Slytherin, isn't it?_

 _We can rule out Ravenclaw. You lack the necessary depth,_ the Hat notes. _And maturity._

 _Why, thank you. Get on with it,_ Bellatrix prompts.

 _You have much loyalty,_ the Hat says, _a good Hufflepuff trait...and the bravery...why —_

 _Stop it and just give me Slytherin,_ replies Bellatrix angrily. _I am a Black, and you expect me to go to one of the_ peasant _houses like Hufflepuff?_

 _It would do you well to learn some humbling,_ the Hat says calmly. _Better be_ — "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Hat is taken off Bellatrix's head, and the table marked with red and gold breaks out into sparse applause. They are as stunned as she is, because she is a Black and this is _wrong,_ she is in Slytherin, she is supposed to be in _Slytherin,_ this is not right not right not right —

But the Slytherin table is not looking at her at all. It is a betrayal to her rightful House and to her blood that she is in the traitorous House of Gryffindor. She has slighted the honor of Slytherin House and she has slighted the name of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. And they know this. Everyone knows this. They do not look at her. Bellatrix is a blood-traitor. Bellatrix is wrong. Bellatrix is a Gryffindor and that means she is a betrayal and a fool and laying eyes upon her would be _treason._

Bellatrix hides her shaking hands in the folds of her robes, pretending to smooth them as she rises and tentatively makes her way over to the Gryffindor table.

She barely notices anything about the _oh-so-majestic_ Hogwarts. It is of no consequence.

Bellatrix is a failure _._ Bellatrix is no Black.

. . .

 _Dear Bellatrix,_

 _We have received the news that you were Sorted into Gryffindor House. I am not sure why and I do not care why. I do not believe that Gryffindor is a House of blood-traitors so long as you do not make it one. You must keep the right company in that House. You must be loyal to your blood. You are to behave and you are to support the Black family and if I catch you sympathizing with the Mudbloods your name is to be burned right off the family tree._

 _I hope these terms come to your understanding._

Toujours pur. _Remember. You are still a Black. You are higher than them. We have honor to uphold._

 _Yours,_

 _Cygnus Black III,_

 _Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black_

. . .

Bellatrix does not speak to most of her housemates. They are inferior, they are blood-traitors, there are Mudbloods in the same commons as her, and Bellatrix _deserves_ her spot on the family tree. Bellatrix is going to be great and no Sorting Hat is going to ruin it. Bellatrix is going to raise her family's honor despite the circumstances she was handed and the dratted _Sorting Hat_ is going to get it from her someday.

She is perhaps a little lonely, but the path to greatness is not one many people walk. Bellatrix turns to philosophy and books and thoughts of _greatness, greatness_ to keep her company.

People. Who needs them? Thoughts are much better. Thoughts _motivate._ Thoughts make one — think, for lack of a better word. Bellatrix can lose herself in thoughts and forget about the peasants and the fact that she is in Gryffindor — she can pretend she is a Slytherin — _she is a Slytherin_ — and Bellatrix can think of her paths.

Philosophy is wonderful, indeed.

. . .

Andromeda is Sorted into Slytherin . Bellatrix hates her for being perfect, the perfect daughter and the perfect Slytherin and the perfect Black. She looks so similar to Bellatrix with the dark hair and the dark eyes but there is apparently something in _her_ that is Slytherin — in the unworthy _Andromeda —_

Bellatrix does not clap. Bellatrix does not show any kind of emotion on her face.

Bellatrix seethes.

. . .

Andromeda finds her eventually. Bellatrix isn't sure whether to be annoyed, snappish, resentful, or relieved. Andromeda is probably the one person who will talk to her, but she's interrupting Bellatrix's musings and her thinkings and her paths onto greatness and how _everyone will forget her House_ someday.

"I hear you spend your time here," she offers in greeting.

"Andromeda," Bellatrix replies simply with an incline of her head.

"I don't care, you know," Andromeda says casually. Bellatrix turns her head sharply to face her, disbelief painted onto her face. "That you're Gryffindor."

Bellatrix turns back to face her book: _Plutarch's Moralia: Twenty Essays._ It is, as the name suggests, about the philosopher Plutarch, and Bellatrix thinks they are slightly similar: they both are _thinkers,_ they both had noble upbringings — as noble as one could get aside from kingship — and both are great. _Will be great_ , in Bellatrix's case, but there is greatness for both of them nonetheless.

"And you think I do?" says Bellatrix nonchalantly.

Andromeda says nothing, but Bellatrix gets the feeling that she is thinking _Yes, you do._

They both know she's lying. They both ignore it.

. . .

Andromeda is the only one she talks to, really. Aside from conversations with teachers, Bellatrix's social circle consists of books, thoughts, arguments with herself on pathways, and Andromeda.

As such, they are somewhat sisters in a way they have never been before. Bellatrix uses her voice a lot more than she had in first year.

It's inconsequential things, really. "He's cute…"

"Yes, but he's stupid."

"You're no fun, Bellatrix."

"Doesn't matter if he's _cute,_ he's a Mudblood anyway. I'm practical. Not fun."

Andromeda pouts, but her eyes linger upon the Hufflepuff boy — Ted Tonks? Bellatrix can't be bothered to know his name — a second longer than they should.

Bellatrix ignores it. Bellatrix ignores the fact that Andromeda knows what she's ignoring.

. . .

"We really shouldn't be pranking Cissy, she's only _ten…_ "

"Loosen up, Bella. Cissy can handle herself. She's getting much too pretentious, apparently Mum and Dad've got her hooked up with some Lucius Malfoy."

" _Lucius Malfoy?_ He's a load of dung, rat for a brain!"

"I know, she needs to be knocked down a peg, he isn't that much of a catch…"

. . .

"Andromeda?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you hate me?"

"Why would I hate you?"

"Because I think too much. I'm not — fun, and I'm not very pretty, and I'm not like Cissy either because no one wants to marry a Gryffindor —"

"I don't hate you."

"...Okay."

. . .

Bellatrix notices something amiss the days following their graduation from Hogwarts. Andromeda is fidgety, nervous, always looking around everywhere and biting on her lip, as if someone will be just around the corner waiting for her, as if she's debating an important decision.

And she notices that Andromeda sends an awful lot of owls out lately. "Friends from Hogwarts, you know, keeping in touch," she explains, as if that is a viable excuse.

Bellatrix doesn't believe it for a second. Especially not when she hears footsteps and rushed breathing out in the dark hallways of the Black family home this late at night.

Bellatrix throws her covers off of her body, shivering slightly at the cold air in the house but ignoring it in favor of the person up after curfew.

Or perhaps it is a thief. She can't be sure.

Bellatrix runs in the hallway, feet padding down the floor, until she reaches the kitchen and notices trademark dark hair rummaging through the cupboards fervently.

"Midnight snack?"

Andromeda turns around skittishly, a jerky movement that screams, _Oh, crap._ A rucksack lies at her feet, the kind one uses when they are going on a large trip —

Of course.

"I — Bellatrix, I can —"

Bellatrix interrupts her. She does not want to hear her explanation. "Is it that Mudblood? Ted Tonks?"

Andromeda says nothing. It is answer enough.

"Have you no honor, Andromeda?" asks Bellatrix. "Have you no shame, no sense of pride to your family, to your House" — _perfect Slytherin Andromeda, pride of the family_ — "to anyone? You're going to up and leave in the middle of the night to — what? Marry him? Marry a _Mudblood?_ "

Andromeda is a blood-traitor, and how dare she do this, how dare she? How dare she abuse the privilege she gets, how dare she abuse the fact that _people will actually speak to her, that she is allowed to speak to them?_ How dare she betray her family?

How dare she be a Slytherin when _she_ is the Gryffindor, she is the failure, she is the outcast? Bellatrix is loyal to her blood and to her family and she is repaid with a family of stiffness. And _Andromeda_ is willing to throw _everything_ away: her family, her sister, her life, for a _Mudblood._

 _It's not supposed to be this way._

"You don't understand, Bellatrix —"

"No, I understand perfectly well!" Bellatrix exclaims. "I understand that we mean nothing to you and that you feel no sense of duty to your family and have no honor in your blood. But I thought we were sisters. I thought you would — at least stay."

Andromeda is the one who doesn't understand how much she meant to Bellatrix.

"You were the only one who'd talk to me, you know," continues Bellatrix. "And who'll speak to me now? _Cissy?_ "

"Bella —"

"You want to go?" she asks. "You really want to leave?"

Andromeda again says nothing.

Bellatrix sneers. Of course she would want to.

"Then _go._ Go before I call Mother and Father and go before I whip out my wand right now and shoot you with a _Stupefy._ Take your bag and leave and let me never see your face again because if I do I promise I will show you no mercy."

There are tears in Andromeda's eyes.

But she leaves. She walks wordlessly to the door, opens it, and with one last sad look at Bellatrix and her heaving chest, the door shuts with a _click._

Andromeda is gone.

. . .

Bellatrix burns her name off the tapestry.


	4. iv: we change nothing but tomorrows

**written for the hogwarts creative collection, writing club, and the golden snitch's "through the universe" challenge**

 **creative collection prompt: Squib!AU (in which a character who is a witch/wizard is a Squib)**

 **writing club:**

 **count your buttons: (dialogue) "You know that we will." (word) euphoria**

 **restriction of the month: Task: Write a story that does not contain any characters that attended Hogwarts whilst Harry was there (including Professors). — prompt: (emotion) doubt**

 **liza's loves: Reflekta - Write about someone who feels invisible**

 **through the universe prompt: Apastron — (word) estranged**

 **wc: 604**

. . .

iv. _we change nothing but tomorrows_

. . .

Bellatrix opens the door to the basement, cringing slightly as it creaks. She doubts that Narcissa is filled with any kind of euphoria at the sound.

Then again, perhaps she does. Narcissa has been nothing but a wisp of a presence in the Black household since she turned eleven: always there but never mentioned. She is no one — she is a disgrace — she is a Squib.

And yet there is some sick, twisted part of Bellatrix that feels an odd bit of _pity_ for her estranged sister. Bellatrix hates the feeling. She has come to dispel it, to remind herself that Narcissa is, in the flesh, a dirty little Squib. Worse than a Mudblood, because _at least Mudbloods have magic._

"Hello," she hears the voice — almost disembodied, otherworldly, because Bellatrix has not heard it in so long. "I don't suppose you've brought any kind of news?"

"Why, yes, actually," Bellatrix replies. "I bring news of a new leader."

Narcissa barks out a laugh, sharp and bitter. "Why, thank you, Bella, for gracing my lowly self with your presence. You don't realize the extent of my gratefulness!"

It's sarcasm. Narcissa is not grateful. She is sardonic.

Bellatrix remembers when Narcissa was born and everyone cooed over her, at the slight blond strands of hair sprouted on her head and the gray eyes like clouds gazing at the family confusedly.

Bellatrix remembers when she had convinced herself that Narcissa was just a late bloomer, that she could not be _one of them,_ that she had to be a witch because Narcissa was her sister, and sisters stayed together.

Bellatrix does not remember a time Narcissa had been any kind of bitter. She had been happy until eleven, and she'd burst into tears when she'd been locked in the basement. But never bitter.

She supposes resentment has had time to stew in her sister — and why would it not?

"Now tell me about this _new leader,_ " croons Narcissa, and Bellatrix can hear the desperation somewhere in her voice, hidden but so ever-present. Just like her. Narcissa is there but she is invisible, and she knows it.

"We do not say his name. He is known as our Lord."

"How narcissistic. But also smart," notes Narcissa casually.

"He is going to _eradicate_ the Mudbloods and the blood-traitors and everyone who is not pure, unfiltered _wizard._ Like you."

The venomous words _Like you_ are tacked on like an afterthought she thinks too fast. They tumble out of Bellatrix's mouth and she doesn't know why she feels bad for saying them.

She's not supposed to. She's not supposed to doubt how she feels about her sister. She's not supposed to doubt her loyalties.

Curse Narcissa.

"And you think your Lord will win? You think he will succeed along with his other followers?" Narcissa asks curiously — somehow ignoring the jibe. Bellatrix can admire her thick skin.

Then she erases all of the thought from her mind and scowls at herself internally for thinking the thought. She is not supposed to admire anything about Narcissa. She is a Squib.

She forces herself to reply: "You know that we will."

Narcissa laughs once more. Bellatrix knows that with her amazing intuition, Narcissa probably knows that she doubts her own words.

It doesn't matter. Bellatrix has said what she needed to say.

She turns around and walks out the door, shutting it decisively.

Bellatrix is sure of nothing. But hopefully she put on a good enough show and it convinces her parents she wants nothing to do with her sister.

All she needs to do now is convince herself.


	5. v: toujours pur

**written for the hogwarts creative collection and the golden snitch's "through the universe" challenge**

 **creative collection: Pureblood!AU (in which a character who is a Muggle/Squib, Muggleborn or Halfblood is a Pureblood)**

 **through the universe: Solar Nebula — (character) Ted Tonks**

 **school, house: hogwarts, slytherin**

 **points: 5**

 **wc: 565**

. . .

v. _toujours pur_

. . .

Ted Tonks sickens her. Not because his name is so _frighteningly_ Muggle that Bellatrix honestly doubts how he got to be a pureblood at all — because he just doesn't strike right with her.

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that he's trying to court Bellatrix's sister. As far as she's concerned, that makes him automatically a creep.

She doesn't really know what Andromeda sees in him, really. Probably nothing past the signature Tonks green eyes and auburn hair — a refresher from the usual blonds and browns, Bellatrix will admit, but still, he's not that special.

So when she catches wind of the rumors that he's planning to propose? Well, a serious talk with him is long overdue.

"You wanted to speak with me?" he asks upon arriving in the Black estate — a manor, really, large and winding with its tapestries of previous generations, gold and silver and _toujours pur_ emblazoned everywhere.

"Sit." Bellatrix gestures to the gray chairs and the accompanying gray table.

"Why do I feel like I've just arrived to an interrogation?" asks Ted good-naturedly, taking a seat.

Bellatrix slides gracefully into the seat in front of him. "Perhaps you _have._ "

His eyes flash with understanding. "Is this about Andromeda —"

"You're damn right it is," Bellatrix interrupts. "I hear you're thinking of _popping the question_ —"

"I — I promise, I have no bad intentions or anything, I promise to keep her safe and all —" Ted says, trying to perhaps placate her.

Bellatrix makes a _tsk_ sound in the back of her throat, irritated; she waves a dismissive hand at him.

"I don't care about _safety._ Tell me — is she happy?"

"I don't — know?" Ted says, clearly unsure.

Bellatrix rolls her eyes at him. "Do you make her happy? Does _she_ make you happy?"

"She makes me happy," he confirms definitively. "Not sure about me making her happy, but, well. We'll see that, won't we?"

"Okay. Then let me make one thing _marvelously_ clear, Tonks: I don't like you. Your name is too Muggle. You're not even that pretty. Andromeda is a fool. But if you make her happy" — she shrugs — "then I might be willing to ignore a few things. But make no mistake: I see you look at her the wrong way and you're done, I'm _Crucio_ ing you to death and that's that. We are _toujours pur,_ always pure, and if you're not, well then, goodbye." She glares at Ted. "Understood?"

He nods fearfully. Bellatrix supposes she must strike an intimidating figure, smiling maliciously while dealing out threats when it seems like she's kind of concerned for Ted.

"And you're taking the surname Black. I don't care about your traditions, 'Tonks' is stupid and entirely too lowly and Muggle for a Black. You're becoming Ted Black and that's it."

She rises from her seat then, grinning graciously at Ted. "I'm glad we had this talk," she says sweetly. "Be good to Andromeda and I'll be good to you."

Ted smiles, relieved at being done with the situation, probably. _Good. He should be relieved. He should fear me,_ thinks Bellatrix.

Then she realizes that this is about as much of him as she can stomach for now. His glaringly reddish hair sets her nerves on fire. It's so _Weasley peasant,_ it gets to her.

"Now get out of my house."


	6. vi: take your shadow when you leave

**written for the hogwarts creative collection and the golden snitch's through the universe challenge**

 **creative collection prompt: Muggle!AU (in which a character who is a witch/wizard is a Muggle)**

 **through the universe prompt: Patera — (AU) Lawyer!AU**

 **wc: 355**

. . .

vi. _take your shadow when you leave_

. . .

Rodolphus Lestrange's résumé looms over Bellatrix Black like a shadow — persistently there and willfully ignored.

She hates him for the sole fact that he's an asshole, but she can't help but respect his work, because the résumé is a shrewd one. Rodolphus comes from a long line of Lestrange lawyers, and the Black family is one of entrepreneurs — initially Druella and Cygnus had wanted her in the family business, but she was so drawn to cases and law that her parents just hadn't been able to persuade her to join that profession.

So, by default, Bellatrix hates what he stands for: no achievement. She worked for what she has, she worked to _even get into_ her profession, and Rodolphus Lestrange with his birth training shows up and tries to upstage her. Although he does have talent, Bellatrix can't get behind the sentiment of it.

This makes the fact that Rodolphus is the defense lawyer for the newest case she's working on a matter of principle. Bellatrix is better. She's going to win.

She has to.

. . .

If Bellatrix hated Rodolphus from what she'd heard, she definitely hates him after a first-hand encounter.

It had been very nice and civil at first. Perhaps there were shady undertones to the conversation, but there was a handshake and there were smiles and Bellatrix had thought, _He's going down._

And then he speaks more than he should. Runs his mouth. It ruins things for him.

"Well, Miss Black, I am looking forward to winning this case," he says now, even having the gall to _smirk_ as if his victory is imminent.

Well — two can play _that_ game. Bellatrix smiles with feigned sweetness and replies, "Well, Mr. Lestrange, I am looking forward to destroying you."

Amused surprise flashes briefly in his eyes, and they regard her with a cold disposition — although more respectful. Bellatrix raises her chin and matches his gaze. She looks at him icily, daring him to speak and make things worse. Daring him to come to court and face her.

It is a challenge.

. . .

It's a matter of principle. Bellatrix wins.

The shadow leaves.


	7. vii: if you thought it'd be easy

**written for the hogwarts creative collection and the golden snitch's through the universe challenge**

 **creative collection prompt: Everyone Lives!AU (people who die canonically live)**

 **through the universe prompt: Fireball — (character) Molly Weasley**

 **school, house: hogwarts, slytherin**

 **points: 5**

 **wc: 395**

. . .

vii. _if you thought it'd be easy_

. . .

The curse blasts her in the chest, bright red and sparking electric. It strikes Bellatrix, but it barely harms her. She falls to the ground from the force of the spell, but she is relatively unscathed.

" _NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"_ Molly Weasley had screamed.

Bellatrix isn't one for restrictions.

She drags herself up from the mud, and brushes off her dress slowly, smiling sadistically at Molly Weasley and her band of merry idiots who thought they'd polished her off. Their eyes widen in shock seeing Bellatrix up and alive.

Bellatrix laughs at their naïvety. "Did you think it'd be that _easy?_ " she chuckles. "Thought you could slap me with a curse and dig me six feet under?"

Molly Weasley gapes, and her children with their flaming-red hair do as well.

"You didn't even use an Unforgivable!" bemoans Bellatrix, sauntering over to her. "I thought you'd _at least_ use _Crucio,_ but clearly I've overestimated your competence!"

Molly straightens then, saying, "You've _underestimated_ it if anything. I knocked you down, didn't I?"

"Yes, but _you didn't get the job done,_ Molly dearest. It's pathetic. Even your conviction for your daughter couldn't get you to kill me...how _pitiful…_ "

"You shut your mouth, you shut it right now!" screeches Molly angrily.

Bellatrix laughs heartily. "Oh, no, Molly dearest, I think I'll talk a little more...about how much of a _thorn_ you've been in my side, with your ten children running amok and contaminating the place with their blood-traitor. Why would you even _have_ so many children when you clearly can't feed all the mouths?" she wonders. She can see Molly ready her wand, eyes flashing, a fist clenched at her side with teeth gritting. Bellatrix whips out her own wand in a flash, fast as lightning, and shoots a nonverbal _Stupefy_ at her.

"Don't even think about it, _Molly darling,_ " she mocks. Then she looks at the kids, wands at the ready, prepared to fight but not wanting to engage Bellatrix, who has more experience.

"How quaint," Bellatrix notes. "You see that, Molly? That's your _kids,_ looking upon your death…"

The green light hits her before anyone is the wiser. The redheads all move toward their mother, looking in disbelief at her lifeless body. They all but forget about the woman who murdered her in their frenzy to see that their matriarch is alive.

Bellatrix laughs.


	8. vii: not easily fooled

**written for the hogwarts creative collection and the golden snitch's through the universe challenge**

 **creative collection prompt: Everyone Dies!AU (people who live canonically die)**

 **through the universe prompt: Major Planet — (character) Harry Potter**

 **school, house: hogwarts, slytherin**

 **points: 5**

 **wc: 649**

. . .

vii. _not easily fooled_

. . .

Narcissa leans over Harry Potter, and her long hair covers him in such a way that makes Bellatrix slightly suspicious. She checks Potter for more than should be necessary, thinks Bellatrix, but perhaps she is just being thorough. The Malfoys are teetering on thin ice with the Dark Lord as it is.

He should be dead. He will be dead. The Dark Lord will have killed him.

"He is dead," declares Narcissa. Her Lord nods in affirmation and begins to say something, but Bellatrix sees something in her sister's eyes, the tell-tale sign of a lie.

Bellatrix rushes forward and presses her hand to the limp Harry Potter's neck.

A faint flutter pulsates through his body. Bellatrix places her arm on his chest. It moves up and down.

He lives. He breathes.

 _Cissy, no._

"He is not dead. Narcissa is lying!" Bellatrix exclaims. "Check for yourself, my Lord. Potter lives!"

The oaf Hagrid watches the scene with trepidation, not daring to believe, perhaps, that his precious Potter is not dead.

Bellatrix will not allow him to feel hope. Potter will suffer so much at her hand he will be worse off than the Longbottoms, she will make sure.

Bellatrix lifts Potter up roughly by the arm, at which he gives up all pretense of limpness and opens his eyes. They are very green and very afraid, she notes with satisfaction.

Her Lord watches calmly. "You have a good eye, Bellatrix."

"Narcissa is my sister. I am not so easily fooled as any other," she explains simply.

Narcissa's frightened, pale face remains in Bellatrix's vision, but she does not dare speak or incense the Dark Lord any further.

He walks — glides, really — dangerously toward Bellatrix's sister, who stands before her Lord in fear and shame.

"You have betrayed me, Narcissa. And why is that?" he muses.

She does not say a word. He sneers at that and withdraws his wand.

"Very well. _Avada Kedavra._ "

Narcissa falls.

. . .

Bellatrix drags Potter out, makes him move toward Hogwarts Castle. He struggles, but Bellatrix's grip on him is tight and unforgiving.

Finally he finds himself face-to-face with the Battle of Hogwarts. The spells of Death Eaters and Hogwarts staff and students clash, but all is ceased in awe when Bellatrix pushes Potter — the hero to some, villain to others — in front of the crowd.

"Here stands," declares Bellatrix loudly, "your precious hero, _Harry Potter._ "

They all look toward the scene, and everyone else stands in the sidelines, including the Dark Lord, who merely looks on with something akin to anticipation gleaming in his eyes. _Go on,_ they seem to convey.

"He came to die in the Forbidden Forest. But then we discovered that he _lives!_ He survived through some cheating, some deception! He is no Boy-Who-Lived! He is the Boy-Who-Deceived!"

The Death Eaters roar in appreciation.

"So for this act of trickery, he will have to be _punished,_ will he not?"

The crowd bursts into disarray: one of positivity — _Kill Potter!_ — and one of negativity — _He is but a boy!_

Bellatrix grabs Potter by the collar and pulls him up close to her, and she whispers, "What say you, Potter? How will you die?"

"Do your worst," he growls back.

Bellatrix laughs. She throws him back onto the ground.

"Whatever you say, my darling," she croons. " _Crucio!_ "

Potter screams, unimaginable agony consuming him, tearing apart his insides — _No! No!_ — and the crowd gasps, trying to do something, but the Dark Lord waves his wand and a barrier appears, blocking the Light Side; everyone watches, some in dread, some eagerly, and they see Harry Potter being destroyed.

 _Do your worst,_ he had said.

The remaining Death Eaters pour out and catch the transfixed Light Side by surprise: Harry Potter is the first to be destroyed, but the rest will soon follow.

They have not begun yet.


	9. ix: in the dark we see our true selves

**written for hogwarts creative collection and the golden snitch's through the universe challenge**

 **creative collection: Dark!AU (in which a character who is predominantly light-side is dark-side)**

 **through the universe: Oblateness — (character) Lavender Brown**

 **wc: 392**

. . .

ix. _in the dark we see our true selves_

. . .

"Well, well," Bellatrix says, raking an unimpressed eye over the figure of Lavender Brown.

She is mediocre; she doesn't strike an intimidating figure, she doesn't look like the Death Eater she wants to be.

But to her credit, Bellatrix's gaze makes her stand up straighter. "I want to be a spy," she declares.

Bellatrix chuckles. "A _spy,_ yes?" she asks. "Well, we already have one, darling. I have no need of you. In fact" — she takes her wand out of her cloak, pointing it subtly but noticeably at Brown's throat — "I could just do away with you now and save everyone the trouble."

"Your spy is Snape, right?" she confirms. "Well, all he knows about is what goes on with Dumbledore. Does he _know_ what Harry Potter is planning? Does he know what goes on in Hermione Granger's mind? Because I room with her. I could tell you," offers Lavender.

She's smart, Bellatrix will admit. The Death Eaters could use this kind of intel.

"I'm listening," hums Bellatrix noncommittally.

Lavender Brown draws in a breath, then says, "I can listen in, but mostly their methods involve stumbling upon something and then reading up about it until they find something relevant. I'm not quite close to them...but that Ronald Weasley is so harebrained and desperate to get a snog, I might just give it to him…"

Bellatrix looks at her with a newfound respect. "And you're sure he's careless? He'll divulge secrets?"

"Perhaps he'll turn out to be more loyal...and if that's the case, magic is always a help…"

Maybe this Lavender Brown can be useful after all. It's clear now that she's not just some Death Eater wannabe, that she actually can work and that she has the cunning required to be a spy.

"You're debating," notes Brown.

"Indeed I am," agrees Bellatrix. "I'm wondering what to do with you. Killing you is always a possibility. But I concede you might just have a use."

They stand at a stalemate for a few moments, both thinking, _What now?_

Finally Bellatrix gestures for Lavender to get up. She pokes her wand into Brown's back and says, "Move. I'm taking you to the Dark Lord. He will be your Lord, too, if you are worthy enough."

Bellatrix cannot see her face, but she can imagine the dark smile gracing it.


End file.
